


Accidents Happen

by supersoakerx



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Ball Gag, Daddy Kink, Drooling, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Masturbation, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pornography, Punishment, Shoe Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Degradation, Verbal Humiliation, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: You say the wrong thing and Daddy punishes you for it.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Ok @kassanovella’s cuckqueaning in 'cocky. beautiful. bastard' triggered something in me I didn’t know I needed. So naturally I took the idea of being made to watch and unable to participate and slapped a little Daddy!Charlie sauce on that bad boy. Thank you Anna for opening my third eye x  
> I also have to express my everlasting love for @thetorturerwrites, for without them and 'Bucket' (one of my all time favourite fics) I may not have had the courage to drop a certain nickname in the below.

You stand before the tall, spotless, full length mirror, twisting the ball of your foot this way and that on the red carpet, as the sales assistant waxes lyrical about the fit, the height, the stones, the buckle, the elongation of your legs, and _what_ a _comfortable_ shoe it is.

It’s nauseating.

There’ only one person whose opinion truly matters, and you turn to look at him now.

Charlie assesses your feet, and the extravagant heels that adorn them. His plush lips purse in a hard line.

You know what that means. He doesn’t like them.

Charlie’s gaze trails slowly up your legs, up over your skirt, higher to your waist, chest, neck, and lips. When he gets to your eyes, he lingers there and holds your stare for a long, hot moment.

You can tell he’s just undressed you, in his mind. Your insides flutter.

“No,” he looks to the sales assistant, “too busy. Stones or a buckle, not both.”

“Of course, sir,” they reply, hastily kneeling down to help you out of the heels, “you are absolutely right. I will look now for other options, right away.”

They scurry off, and you scrunch your toes into the soft carpet underfoot, gazing at the wall of pretty red-soled shoes before you.

Charlie clears his throat, “Gorgeous,” – and your gaze snaps to him like a magnet.

He beckons you closer with two fingers. A soft, barely-there smile glints in his eyes as you pad over to him at the display stand.

“I’d like [this](https://images.us.christianlouboutin.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/thumbnail/1200x/602f0fa2c1f0d1ba5e241f914e856ff9/3/2/0/5/christianlouboutin-elisamini-3205250_J154_1_1200x1200_1592823875.jpg), with your dress,” he murmurs, glancing at a small bag with gold clasp and chain, bedecked with countless tiny rhinestones atop a floral pattern rich with jewel tones.

His taste is exquisite. Your [dress](https://media.missguided.com/s/missguided/VX9786455_set/1/plus-size-navy-slinky-long-sleeve-ruched-mini-dress) for the opening night of his play was a short, tight, velvet number, navy with a deep neck-line and long balloon sleeves cuffed at the wrist.

He knew when he picked it that it needed a statement, and today Charlie found just what he’d been looking for.

“Well?” he prompts you. You’d been staring, mouth agape.

“Oh, Daddy,” you coo, all enthusiasm, no thought. “It’s _beautiful_.” You manage to tear your eyes away, and gaze up at him with gratitude, devotion, adoration: every warm feeling that exploded in your chest, was etched on your face.

Charlie does not return it.

He fixes you with a piercing gaze, slips his hands into his pockets, tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes. His plush lips pout as he clenches his rows of teeth together.

It’s in _that_ moment, that you realise what you’d said.

Out loud. In public.

_Anyone_ could have heard you.

It’s not a part of what you do with him. In the privacy of his apartment—it’s a must. It’s punishable to _not_ say it. Over the phone, sure, if you’re alone. In a cab, the box at the theatre, his tables at his favourite restaurants, all fine, if he can be assured of discretion.

In the middle of fucking Louboutin’s at 11.30am on a Saturday?

Absolutely fucking not, and _you_ should’ve remembered that, kitten.

“Get over here,” Charlie says quietly.

Ice runs through your veins. You take a step towards him.

“Closer,” he murmurs, hands firmly in his pockets, “I’m gonna whisper in your ear.”

You close the distance, standing just about on top of him, your clothes almost brushing against his.

“Up.”

Burning with embarrassment, you stand up on the balls of your feet, right up on your tiptoes, the muscles in your legs quivering to keep you balanced. Usually, one of your many sets of heels would do this for you.

Charlie leans down. “You. Are in _big_. Trouble, kitten.”

Your breath catches. You fight the urge to apologise, knowing the words instinctively on your tongue will only make things worse.

“We’re leaving now. Get your things.”

**XXXX**

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll be quiet. I promise, I will.”

“Why do I feel like that won’t happen, kitten?”

Charlie strides over to you, walking back into the bedroom from the spare room, small black ball gag in hand.

You’re sitting on your knees, your arms trapped behind you in flocked leather cuffs looped around the bedpost, wearing the [teal green](https://cdn2.citychic.com.au/media/catalog/product/cache/f38713d27106efaeaccd98fe2a3b4e5f/202091EMERALD-1.jpg) set and black pumps Charlie had told you to get dressed in this morning before he took you shopping.

When you’d gotten home, he’d stripped you of your clothes, made you kneel, and bound you to his bed. He’d said he has important business to take care of, and since you can’t be trusted to behave, you don’t get to be a part of it with him. You’ll sit and you’ll wait for him to have done with it—and you’d want to learn your lesson about what you fuckin’ say to him.

Since then he’d sat at his laptop behind his desk. He’d tapped the keys and clicked the mouse, finishing the shopping online and answering some e-mails. You’d been nosy, and noisy, and God damn it, kitten: you’d just blown your last warning.

Charlie unfastens the buckle and leans down to slip the round silicone ball into your mouth. You get it behind your teeth and wrap your lips around it, while you’re on a mission to try to inhale his scent, his breath.

The black gag one of the smaller ones, a size that won’t hurt your jaw but will still prevent you from talking. Charlie eyes the loops and clasps the buckle at the back of your head, and tests the tightness by sliding a finger along your cheek beneath the strap. It’s secure, but not tight. It’ll stay put.

Charlie mutters, “that’ll keep you fuckin’ quiet,” as he draws back.

He was so close, he smelt so fucking good, that as he leans away from you a tiny whimper escapes your vocal cords.

Charlie looks down at you. “I’ll give you that one, kitten; but you keep this up and I’m gonna lose my patience.”

You gaze up at him—bound, gagged and wide-eyed in lace—and Charlie ignores the tremor of want that flares in the pit of his gut. You nod at him, agreeing to keep quiet—from now on.

Charlie strolls to his desk, and you watch him walk away. Big and broad. Long legs. Gorgeous hair. His shoulders ripple beneath his shirt as he picks up his phone and swirls around to face you, leaning back on the desk. He dials a number and calls—“Ah, Paolo… fine, fine. And you?”—his trusted tailor.

“Yeah,” Charlie goes on as if you aren’t even there, “look, I couldn't get down there today. I had some,”—he glances at you—“trouble at home. Could you..."

You watch his lips as he speaks: big, plush, petal pink things. You watch the way his luscious hair bounces with every nod of his head. Your gaze rakes over his body. Tall. Thick. Saliva starts to pool in your mouth. You put everything into catching his eyes, like maybe he’d somehow hear the chanting in your head and reward you with a look in your direction.

After Paolo, Charlie calls his favourite upholsterer—

“Hey John..." he pauses, chuckles, "mm, very well, and you?... Christmas, yeah. Look about that..."

—while you wait, at his leisure, kneeling with your mouth stuffed and your wrists cuffed on Charlie’s bedroom floor. Charlie leans up off his desk and strolls to the window, out of your line of sight.

Somehow, it’s worse, only getting to hear him. His compelling baritone giving commands. His throaty laugh. His sigh when something’s not good enough. You can just _see_ his face in your mind’s eye, see every single expression his handsome features would be making.

Your muscles twitch to pivot around on your knees, or even to flick a glance behind you, but you resist. You take a deep breath in through your nose and plead with the universe for him to come walk by you again.

Charlie ends the call with John as he slowly crosses the room. You can hear his voice get closer as he says his goodbyes.

In a matter of seconds, your senses overload with him. He comes into your field of view, walks close by you and sits next to you on the bed. You can all at once see, smell, and very nearly _touch_ him. You know you’re imagining this, but it’s like you can even taste him on your tongue. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth so you can swallow all the excess drool that had collected in your mouth.

His very presence makes your core flip and clench for him—and there’s no _way_ he doesn’t know that.

Charlie’s cologne fills your nostrils, and out of your periphery you see him lean back on the bed—taking his torso and above out of your view. He stretches his long legs out straight, crossing his feet at the ankle. His shoes gleam, freshly shined.

You’d know. You’re the one who cleans them.

Charlie taps another number into his phone, and it’s so quiet, the only sound is your laboured breathing through your nose.

"Rita," his smooth baritone charms into the receiver, "Charlie Barber... yes. Hi... fine, good..." he stops, chuckles, and it rumbles right through you, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Are we all set for settlement on the 20th? I sent the papers back yesterday and... ahuh... no, no. Market listing not required. This is just for me... right, exactly... and you'll send that through today?... great... Ok. Looking forward to it... great, thanks, Rita. Bye now—same to you."

He ends the call. You hear the tiny little thump as his phone hits the bed. He sighs, long and deep. "Ahh, kitten." He leans forward, forearms to thighs. You can feel his eyes on you, all over you. "What's Daddy gonna do with you?"

So many images flood your mind—your core flutters, and you squeak.

Charlie’s amused. “Answer me. It’s not rhetorical.”

You flex in your bonds, that little round ball in your mouth making your voice nothing more than a muffled grunt as you try to talk to him.

He huffs a laugh at your predicament, “you silly girl. Daddy can’t understand you with this thing,” he flicks his finger over the gag a few times as he says, “in your whore mouth.”

You sigh through your nose as Charlie knocks the silicone ball against your teeth. You subtly rock your hips, squeezing your thighs together.

“Mmm,” Charlie hums. “That little cunt mouth has been nothing but trouble for me today—,”

You know you’re slick. You have been since he first cuffed you here. He could've put you on the Cross, in the spare room. Could’ve tied you to the bench. Could’ve left you there without him. But he let you stay near him, let you hear his voice and smell his cologne. Daddy kept you close.

“—but pretty as you look, princess,” Charlie says, “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson.”

He stands from the bed and strolls to his desk—slowly, like he knows your eyes track his every move. He drags his chair across the floor—unhurried, watching you watch him—and sets it in front of you.

Charlie sits down, so close that if you had use of your arms you could slide your palms up his thighs. He spreads his legs wide, and you see it.

Your pussy clenches for it.

Charlie’s cock bulges the right inside leg of his slacks. You lurch for it, but you’re halted abruptly by the cuffs securing your wrists.

Charlie tilts his head to the side, grimaces at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing ever. “No, no, no,” he mutters. “No fuckin’ way.”

Charlie unbuckles his belt, pops the button on his slacks and unzips the fly. He slips a hand inside his black Ralph Lauren’s and fists his erection languidly, his nose flaring on a deep inhale—at the same time as he fishes his phone from his pocket with his other hand and taps on the screen with his thumb.

All you can do is sit, and watch, and drool for him. Spit starts to fill up your mouth again.

“Hmmh,” Charlie hums quietly at his phone. “This’ll do.” He prises his long, thick, veiny cock from his trunks so you can see it, and wraps his fat fingers around the big red monster mid-way. He pushes up, sliding the foreskin up and over the flared head before pulling back down and fisting the base. He reads to you, looking at his phone, and enunciating every word. “’Young slut deepthroats big cock and facial P.O.V.’ Hm,” he pauses, glances at you, hard dick in hand. “Could work on their grammar.”

If your lips weren’t wrapped around the gag, your jaw would be on the floor. You can’t take your eyes from his large, swollen, flushed cock.

Charlie taps a button, turns his phone landscape and gazes at the screen as he starts to stroke himself. He sighs, “ahh,” his eyes half-closed.

After a few long, lazy strokes he goes to spit in his hand. Then, remembering you’re here, he pauses the clip and leans down to you.

“Spread ‘em,” he says, and after you shift your knees apart he dips inside your lacy panties and wets three fingers in your slick.

You buck and jolt onto his digits, but Charlie just leans back and smears your cum over his cock.

He does it again, leaning close, not even looking at your face but looking down between your legs as he slicks his fingers along your wet slit, coating them in your arousal. He knows he’s grazing your clit, and he couldn’t give a fuck less about that.

He sits back in his chair and spreads his legs wider now. He coats his cock glossy, and smirks at you as he says, “you’re Daddy’s bottle of lube, aren’t you, kitten?” He grips his cock and tugs on it some more, keeping eye contact with you. “Got my own little lube dispenser right here.”

You whimper, a pitiful sound, nerves in your core and the peaks of your breasts tingling from his brief attention. Charlie huffs a laugh through his nose.

He looks back at his phone and clicks the clip to play. Watching it, he sighs deeply, his fingers flexing on his cock before he languidly strokes it again.

“Pretty eyes,” he says to you, about the girl on his phone, while he gazes at his screen. “Different colour to yours, but… pretty.” He pauses, tugging, sighing. “Different hair, too.”

Your tongue laps absently at the silicone ball in your mouth, as if it was something else. You shift on your knees and manage to swallow more spit—but soon, there’s gonna be too much.

Charlie says, “here I’ll turn it up so you can hear it.” He clicks buttons on the side of his phone until another male’s sighs seep out into the room.

‘ _Oh yeah_ ,’ groans the Man, ‘ _deeper_ ,’ followed by more sighs, and a few groans.

Charlie’s nostrils flare. He’s forgotten all about you again, now that his chosen pornography has audio. His fist moves faster on his cock.

‘ _Yeah_ , _suck it_ ,’ the Man growls. ‘ _Fuckin’_ _whore_.’

Charlie groans. The pass of his hand tugging the foreskin up and down the shaft is audible—quick strokes, with a tiny pause in between.

‘ _Deeper_ ,’ grunts the Man, and then comes the wet, plugged gurgling of a spasming throat—one, two, three times. It’s a sound you’re all too familiar with: the Girl is gagging.

Charlie’s breath catches and his hips rock up into his fist. He mutters a curse, fisting just the top half of his cock. You hear a deep gasping breath for air and then spitting, and Charlie groans.

He reaches forward, dips inside your soaked panties again and doesn’t even take his eyes from his phone this time. He slides three fingers up and down your slit for a few passes and dips two—then, feeling you loose—three fingers into your cunt.

You moan around the gag in your mouth, but Charlie’s gone just as quickly, sitting back in his chair and rubbing your slick all over his cock.

More grunts and groans stream from his phone, and Charlie pumps his cock in earnest now. He wants to cum soon.

The Man says, ‘ _yeah suck it, suck my cock_ ,’ and the Girl moans. She gags again—louder, four times—and Charlie’s nostrils flare, his chest rises, his eyes go wide before drooping heavy again. He shifts in his seat.

A moment passes and Charlie’s head tips back, before he rolls his neck and leans to the other side. “He’s got her on her back, kitten,” he says, fisting his cock quickly. “Mmmh. That’s what Daddy’s gonna do to you.”

The Man groans, but the Girl is silent. You hear the wet click of her open throat—pliant and slick.

Charlie’s eyes flare black and dangerous. He grunts, and sits forward in his chair a little.

The Man’s groans get louder, interspersed with ‘ _yeah_ ’s and the sound of slaps.

“Houhhh,” Charlie groans, and then very quietly he mutters, “fuck it, fuck it,” under his breath.

You shift on your knees, getting ready. You don’t know what for, but you feel like something’s coming. You can see Charlie’s getting close, see it in the way all the brown is gone from his eyes; in the way his lips pull up and his teeth clench like he’s gonna shout at someone. Maybe he’s gonna unbuckle the gag and finish himself off in your mouth. Or rip the thing from your lips and cum down your throat.

“Shit,” Charlie grunts. He scoots to the edge of his chair. His body is so close to yours, the shuckshuckshuck of his fist is loud to your ears. But he doesn’t make any more moves towards you. He just gazes at his phone in one hand and tugs on his thick fat cock in the other.

You try to say, “Daddy,” around the silicone ball but Charlie quickly cuts you off, panting, “shut up,” – not once taking his eyes from the screen and not losing any rhythm on his dick.

‘ _Come here_ , _baby_. _Come_ _here_ ,’ murmurs the Man, before loud groans ring out from Charlie’s phone—deep and staccato and breathy.

Charlie’s face scrunches up, he huffs once, twice, then groans, “fuck,” – and that’s all the warning you get before he cums all over you.

He sighs through his orgasm as he shoots hot, thick, viscous cum all over your chest and tits. He rubs his cock some more, stroking the angry behemoth through the spasms. He wrings the last of his cum from himself, and catches a dribble before it drops onto the floor.

He wipes it on your shoulder.

Charlie leans back in his chair, and his eyes fall closed for a moment. He takes a couple of deep, steadying breaths, and you can’t take your eyes off him; neither his face or his red, bloated cock. It still looks so heavy, even after he cums, and your mouth waters to suck on it, even as it softens.

You feel a dribble of saliva leak from one corner of your mouth.

Charlie opens his eyes slowly, and sighs one last deep, audible breath before his breathing settles. He glances over you, nods, and then looks down as he tucks his dick back into his pants and rights his clothes.

Then he stands and walks to his desk, like nothing happened.

Like you’re not kneeling there, quivering and wet, covered in his load.

Charlie checks his notebook, runs his finger down the page as he reads. He mutters to himself, grabs a pen and scribbles on something. Like. Nothing. Happened.

Then, he heads for the door—but before he’s all the way through it he stops. He turns on his heel and strolls back to you slowly. He slips a hand into his pocket, appraising you with the ghost of a smirk on his face. He reaches with one finger, swipes the spit from your mouth and wipes it on your upper arm.

“Knees,” he says, pointing at yours. “Red?”

You’re a tingling mess all over, but you do have to admit that the floor was starting to bite into your kneecaps. But it wasn’t so bad; you can manage.

You shake your head.

“Yellow?” Charlie asks.

Then again, you don’t know how much longer he plans to keep you like this. Surely not that much longer, right? You shake your head, but Charlie sees the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, and the slight hesitation in your response.

Not convinced, he asks again, “yellow?”

You nod.

Charlie crouches down and slips your heels off your feet, before grabbing a pillow from his bed. “Up,” he says, and as you shift your knees Charlie wedges the soft pillow under your kneecaps.

He stands back, assessing you. “Yellow?”

You shake your head again. This feels much better.

“Green?” says Charlie—and you nod.

Charlie turns on his heel and walks out of his bedroom. You hear his footfalls down the hallway, and then the whir of the coffee machine.

**XXXX**

A short while later you hear Charlie’s footsteps coming down the hall, and soon enough he strides back into his bedroom. The aroma of his favourite beans swirls faintly around him, and when he crouches down to meet your eye level, his coffee-scented breath makes your glands ooze more drool for a taste of him.

Another part of you drools, too—just seeing him again. He wouldn’t have been gone that long, just enough time to make and enjoy a cup of coffee, but it felt like an eternity for you.

“That’s a shame. All dried up,” he says, looking over the parts of your body where he shot his cum a short while earlier. Then, catching himself, a corner of his mouth tugs up into a smile. “Well…” he murmurs, letting the implication hang in the air, letting reference to your slowly leaking mouth and flooding pussy go unsaid.

His eyes trail over your face, lingering on the gag in your mouth before he looks into your eyes and says, “Daddy’s hard again, thinking about you in here like this.”

Your core fires instantly, trickling warmth again, and your eyes light up. You preen, sitting up a little straighter, pushing your chest out.

Charlie smiles pityingly at you. “Too bad I’m still cross with you. Bet that filthy little cunt would swallow me whole right now,” he sighs as he sits back in his chair, and scoots it closer, “greedy fuckin’ thing you are.”

A loud whine keens in your throat, and you implore him with your biggest, sweetest, most pleading eyes.

Charlie’s half-way through undressing himself before he looks at you like you’re a fly buzzing around his head. “Are you _trying_ to make this worse for yourself—is this a conscious thing you’re doing, or…?”

You collect yourself, your head dropping as you blink away the desperation. You swallow what little you can of the puddle of saliva your mouth keeps making.

Charlie looks away from you, scrolling through his phone as he skims his palm over his clothed erection.

“What’ve we got this time…” he mumbles, and after a few moments of scrolling and reading he murmurs, “hmm. What about…” and types something into his phone.

You feel already—just watching his palm graze the outline of his hard dick—a fresh, hot wave of arousal coats your pussy and seeps onto your drenched panties.

“Aha,” Charlie croons, “here we go, ‘Hot lesbians kiss and hard fuck squirting’,” he raises his brows at you, then looks back at his phone, “sounds like just key words but this looks promising.” He ups the volume and presses play.

You breathe hard through your nose as Charlie slips his hot, heavy cock free from his black trunks again. He strokes up and down a few times, shifts his legs a little wider, and after you hear the sound of what is definitely two women kissing, he murmurs, “oh yeah, this should be good, huh kitten?”

The moan you try to answer him with sounds needy, with the damn gag in your mouth—but Charlie cuts you off mid-way anyway, saying “nahh I don’t care.”

He rests back in his chair, easing his thick fingers all the way up and all the way down his fat, mean, monster of a cock. He gazes intently at the screen, and he licks his lips, seconds before a Girl moans. “God, they’re hot,” Charlie murmurs, stroking his dick. “They’re all over each other, kitten.”

A whimper catches in your throat. You try to shift your knees together on the pillow, to get any kind of pressure on your tingling clit.

Charlie clears his throat and looks down at you, your jostling having distracted him. He sees what you’re trying to do and he leans down, slapping your moving thighs and saying, “no. No,” like you’re a pet animal he’s disciplining. “This isn’t for you,” he shoves into your panties again, “this is for Daddy, bottle.” This time he dispenses with the prelude of rubbing up and down your slit, and instead plunges three fingers straight into your compliant cunt.

The wet squelch is disgusting, but the relief is fucking incredible, and the duelling heats of embarrassment and pleasure mix to flood your skin with warmth. You groan around the ball gag.

Charlie’s fingers twist and rotate inside you. He’s purposeful this time.

He drags his digits along your cunt and scoops your cum from your pussy walls.

“Daddy,” you moan around the silicone ball, but it sounds like nonsense. Like nothing—and Charlie treats it as such.

Charlie reaches beneath him to rub his wet fingers around just the head of his cock, and he sighs deeply. Watching the screen he reaches between your legs and slides easily into your pliable pussy again, giving you no further thought. He gathers more of your slick like he’s mining it, shovelling it out of you with his three fat digits. He groans as he glazes his stiff cock with it, watching the two Girls fuck on his phone.

Charlie doesn’t need even need to think about it. His hand works on auto-pilot as he pushes into your flooded cunt a third time. He twists his fingers like he’s giving some kind of royal wave, grazing your inner labia with his knuckles. He trowels you out, scooping up your slippery cum before leaning back in his chair and slicking his cock shiny with it.

Charlie makes a mental note: whenever he next wants to fist you, he’ll make you watch him jerk off a couple times—since it clearly spreads you so loose and fuckin’ slippery for him.

Charlie doesn’t say a word to you, about your quavering, liquid cunt. Over the moans of the Girls and the wet shuck of his fist, all he says is, “fuck, she squirted big. Wet the other girl’s hair, kitten.”

Every nerve ending in your body is singing, screaming for attention. Your budded nipples are so tight they’re starting to feel sore, and your clit pulses.

You hear euphoric moans—one voice crying out, ‘ _yes_ ,’ and the other, ‘ _oh my God_ ,’—and Charlie shudders through a groan. “Squirted onto the camera,” he supplies, by way of an explanation he knows he doesn’t have to give.

‘ _Do it again_. _Do it, yes,_ ’ says a Girl, and Charlie sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth. A squeal of ‘ _yes!_ ’ rings out from his phone, and he jerks his cock faster, breathing out a deep, low groan.

Your pussy is making so much silky slick, you can feel it. Drool seeps out around both corners of your mouth.

“Jesus Christ she’s so fuckin’ wet,” Charlie huffs. He catches a grunt in his throat, then lets it out in a groan. Pumping his thick, fury-red dick quicker, with shorter strokes, he says, “She looks a bit like you, kitten.”

‘ _Ohh_ ,’ one of the Girls moans, ‘ _yes, yes, yes I’m gonna cum_.’ Then, she screams.

“Fuck,” Charlie grunts, bucking into his fist. His lips tremble as he breathes in, and his eyes are black as midnight, ablaze with the pleasure he’s giving himself.

“Drink it,” he murmurs, eyes glued to his phone, then, “lick it—fuck. Shit.”

Charlie beats his fat dick in earnest, his fist slapping quickly against his flesh at the base of his cock.

‘ _Ooohh_ ,’ moans the other Girl, ‘ _gonna fuckin’ squirt all over you, you ready?_ ’—and Charlie starts to pant heavy, deep breaths, his chest rising and falling quickly. A loud, long cry spills from the speaker on his phone.

Seconds later, Charlie busts his nut.

“Fuck!” he groans as he shoots another load all over you. Viscous white streaks land hot on your tits and chest like before, and some go rogue, spurting higher onto your neck and one, you flinch, landing on your mouth. You feel the hot dribble slide down the ball gag onto your bottom lip and chin, making tracks with the spit you weren’t able to keep in your mouth.

Charlie slumps back into his chair, drawing in deep, contented lungfuls of air and getting the rhythm of his breathing back.

You kneel, burning, aching—you want it so bad you could cry, and ‘it’ could be anything, at this point. Your core pulses insistently between your spread thighs, your clit and cunt both thrumming with desperate need.

“Ahh,” Charlie sighs, tucking himself away and sitting up in his seat. “Well,” he assesses the mess he made of you, “you’re certainly multipurpose, aren’t you, bottle? Lube dispenser _and_ cum rag.” He gets up, fastens his belt and says, “impressive.” He turns away.

The anguished cry curdles in your throat before you can halt it, and Charlie stops in his tracks.

He turns to you slowly. “What did you say to me?”

You try to gulp. You sit stock still, perched on the edge of needing to cum—needing just to be _touched_ —so badly you could faint.

Charlie steps slowly closer. He gazes down at you. Mascara smudged under your eyes and in the outer corners. Your lips quivering, trembling around the black silicone ball. Little dribbles of drool that he knows are only going to get messier.

His cum, drying on your body.

“You’re really gonna look at Daddy like that, kitten?” he murmurs. Your distress is writ plain on your face: a hopeless helpless despair that makes his still-sensitive cock tingle. “With the eyes and everything—you’re really gonna pull this shit on me?"

The most pathetic sound you’ve ever heard yourself make, keens in your throat.

Charlie purses his lips and folds them between his teeth. He looks at you like you’re a pebble in his shoe. A nuisance. Irritating. “This is so fucking sad. Really, a new low for you, greedy slut.”

You beg him with your eyes, and rattle the chain of your cuffs against the bedpost.

“I’m not fuckin’ happy about this,” Charlie says, stepping closer until you have to crane your head back all the way to look at him. “Here, if you're such a desperate—dirty cunt.” He slides one foot between your thighs. “Ride my shoe til you cum.”

Your eyes go wide. He didn’t really mean—?

“What?” Charlie huffs. “Little princess thinks she’s too pretty to rub herself off on my shoe? Not good enough for you?”

Desire flares in you, and the idea that you could get some semblance of relief wins out over any humiliating state he might see you in.

“I’ve got news for you, kitten. You’re a dirty fucking slut, and all you want is to scream out ‘Daddy’ when he makes you cum. Isn’t that right?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “Well guess what,” he taps the silicone ball three times as he says, “this. Stays. _On_. Remember how you got yourself into this fuckin’ mess. Filthy girl.”

You’re blank. The only thing you know is hot, pulsating desperation, and the promise of release on the horizon. You need him to tell you can have it.

And Charlie knows it. He flicks a glance at his watch, then slides that hand into a pocket and pulls out his phone from the other. “Hurry up,” is all he says, already scrolling and disinterested in you.

You rock experimentally—and moan when your clothed pussy glides across the tip of his leather shoe. The relief from that one speck of contact fires happy hormones all through your brain, and you forget to care as a little more spit drips from the sides of your mouth.

Charlie glances down at you, scoffs, and then looks back at his phone.

You grind against his shoe, and the break of tension is so severe, tears well in your eyes. You try to keep yourself quiet and breathe through your nose, but it feels so good you can’t control the ragged groans of pleasure in your throat.

Then—Charlie’s phone vibrates in his hand.

He looks at you, and murmurs, “don’t stop.” He brings his index finger to his lips to silently ‘hush’ you, and slides his thumb across the screen, accepting the call. “Hey, Sam,” he holds the phone to his ear, greeting his former brother-in-law with fond familiarity.

You want to scream. You’re a slave to your body’s needs, and you’d be unable to stop rocking your aching clit against Charlie’s shoe even without his instruction. You feel more and more slick seep out of your hole with the lewdness and depravity and sheer fucking carnality of what you’re doing, and how important it is that you do not make a sound.

“Good, man, good…” Charlie carries on. “Nahh nothin’, just some things to take care of at home today.”

He looks down at you, sees the pleading desperation in your eyes and spies the way your mouth has started to leak messily. He shakes his head and frowns at you—like realising a stain didn’t wash out of a shirt.

“How about you, man? How’s Cassie? She well?... Oh she did? Oh that’s great… Yes I did get your article, you didn’t get my e-mail back?... Sure, man. Will do.”

You’re pleading with every deity you know that Charlie ends this phone call soon. There’s only so much your body can take. You think you hear Sam say your name on the end of the line, and a flicker of panic runs up your spine—had you said something? Moaned something?

Either way, it didn’t stop you from continuing to grind your stiff clit on Charlie’s shoe.

“Yeah I’ll check with her,” says Charlie, looking down at you again. “She’s a little tied up right now, got something she’s working really hard on. Is tomorrow ok?” Sam babbles away through the phone, and Charlie replies, “oh yeah she’s good. She’s great,”—and then he squints at you and looks a little closer.

Tracks of slobber ooze from the corners of your mouth and seep down your chin. Your eyes are watery, bloodshot with unshed tears of need and embarrassment. He covers the receiver and mouths to you, ‘are you drooling?’

You know you’re making a mess, but you’re halfway out of your mind. You don’t even know; can’t even tell, how much of your spit has seeped out around the silicone ball wedging your mouth open.

“I’ll let her know,” says Charlie. “Ok yeah, let me check my calendar and I’ll get back to you… alright… Good to talk to you, Sam… Give my love to the kids… Of course, you too… Alright, bye.”

You groan loudly when Charlie throws his phone onto the bed, and the hot, wet, swirling pleasure in your gut kicks up a degree. If your orgasm overwhelms you now, it wouldn’t matter if you screamed.

Charlie leans over you and points accusingly at your mouth. “That’s what I think it is, right?” he hisses, but you both already know. “You’re fucking drooling?” He swipes a finger through your slaver and then makes a show of flinging his hand clean, repulsed. “Jesus Christ, there’s so much of it.” His hands fly to the buckle at the back of the ball gag, and he unfastens it swiftly. Holding it by one end, he dangles the thing in front of your face, and strings and globs of your slobber slide down it. “Are you fucking serious?” he says.

You can’t hold back another groan, a throaty and guttural thing as you rock your way to an orgasm. “ _Daddy_.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow, and he scowls at you. “Did I just hear you fucking _moan_? Rubbing your clit on my shoe and you’re gonna moan about it like I’m _fucking_ you? You’re fuckin’ pathetic.”

You whimper and gasp, your whole body heating up.

“And it’s not even your clit, is it?” he laughs, “It’s the fuckin’, lace shit I buy you. You’re gonna cum, in your fuckin’ panties, on Daddy’s fuckin’ shoe.”

Everything nerve tingles, every cell in your body rises. You whisper, “Daddy.”

“Oh my God. I can see it in your eyes. You're gonna get off like this.”

Your throat clicks, your eyes water anew.

“Jesus, you're really gonna fucking do it aren't you?” Charlie tilts back to look down to look at his slick-coated shoe. He can feel the heat of your core on his foot, through the leather. His nose crinkles up and he shakes his head. “You're even fucking worse than I thought. You fuckin’ animal, I can smell your pussy from here.”

You know you’re mere seconds away, and you chant, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” as you chase your high.

Charlie grimaces like he’s just found gum on the bottom of his best pair of Louboutin’s. “Could you hurry the fuck up, bottle? Daddy doesn’t have all day. God, practically fuckin’ beg me for this and now you waste my fuckin’ time.”

Another loud, ragged groan shreds your throat before you can stop it.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Cum, or get off my fucking shoe.”

You screw your eyes shut tight. Now that it’s upon you, you know this is going to feel either utterly amazing or like one of the biggest let downs ever.

“Do it,” Charlie pinches one of your sore nipples hard through the lace cup, rolling and tweaking the aching bud quickly to force you into it, “do it!”

You seize, and snap.

“Christ alive!” Charlie leans away in revulsion, yanking his hand and foot away from you, disgusted as you moan and shudder and giving you nothing to ride out your tremors. “You're just a fuckin’ toy, aren’t you? ‘Rub this, pull that, watch her cum,’ – that’s what it says on your fuckin’ box, doesn’t it, kitten?”

You quiver and shake and gasp, a cruel joke of an orgasm, your pleasure ringing hollow as you’re your clit twitches and your cunt spasms on absolutely fucking nothing. Even the nerves in your nipples spike with want.

“Ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes and for what?” He gestures to his feet. “God, not even you will be able to clean these up.”

Your trembling subsides, but the ache in your pussy pulses unsatisfied. You lift your head, gazing up at Charlie with pleading eyes. You breathe a big, hopeful sigh. Now that the games are out of the way, you’re certain he’s going to drag you by the hair, cut you out of your cum-stained lingerie and break you apart on his dick, giving you an orgasm that’ll blind you.

Charlie’s face changes, from a wince of disgust to a sick sneer of malicious merriment that sparks in your cunt. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

He wipes his shoe off on your inner thighs, before crouching down to your eye level. “You think you’ve done it, huh? You think you’ve made up for your little stunt this morning?” He wipes away a small tear of frustration that had seeped from the corner of your eye and lingered in the small hollow there. “You’ve nowhere near learnt your lesson, kitten,” Charlie says, wiping his finger on your shoulder, “no. Not even close.”


End file.
